That Time When I Cried Over My Breakfast Plate
Note: I wrote this at the end of October, but somehow forgot to ever post it. It's still relevant, but the dates are a little off.
I was raised the daughter of rich but miserly parents. My physical needs were met, but we never experienced luxury.
I married and lived in poverty for the next 17 or 18 years.
I always longed for nice things, and felt it a personal offense that I couldn’t seem to obtain them, even when paying higher prices.
We aren’t meant for disposable everything and a culture that creates based on cost savings over quality.
Over the past couple of years, my business has achieved enough success that I can occasionally splurge on nice mini vacations.
I began by going to BnBs, but found them much the same: cheap quality, held together just enough to get bookings but obviously overused and under-loved.
In one house, a luxury home that would’ve sold for millions but had been purchased by a development company and turned into a vacation rental, there was a literal “poo corner,” a nook under the stairs with carpet stained by repeated dog visits.
It broke me a little.
So this year, as I embark on the biggest transition of my life, going from married for 21 years to “What is it I want in life?”, I decided to no longer settle for throwaway.
I move into my own home in 7 days, but before I knew that was happening, I booked two very special concerts with my two favorite bands, one in Portland, one in Seattle.
In Portland, I booked a hotel I thought was a higher end hotel. It sure billed like one. And twice in my two-day stay, the fire alarm went off after a message came over the loudspeaker in my room apologizing for the false alarm.
The food came in disposable containers, everything was disposable, and the water tasted terrible.
The experience was good enough though, I loved the concert and don’t regret the trip.
Here I am today, though, staying in a true luxury hotel in downtown Spokane before I head west to the concert, and I just can’t describe the soul-level exhale I feel in this room, in this building, a historical and beautiful reminder of old world luxury.
It’s got me philosophizing and I want to bring it here, because I think we might need to start having some conversations about the direction our culture is heading.
I arrived at dark yesterday evening, a bit flustered after having trouble finding the entrance and looping the block several times.
But walking in, I was transported to another dimension, another timeline where humans matter and quality is inherent.
Every texture, every detail, every tile and carved wooden curve and richly patterned carpet speaks to my soul at a level I didn’t realize I was missing.
And this morning, my breakfast arrived, not in plastic, but in beauty and glass and saying without words: “Every detail is worthy of care.”
As I surveyed this tray, I realized two things:
- I will never again be content with our disposable culture.
- This experience is not available to everyone, and that is a tragedy our society will pay for for generations.
The way we experience this world is through careless manufacturing, the cheapest possible everything, from our clothing and household goods to our homes themselves.
Assembly line mass production of everything has stripped us not only of beauty, but of inner peace and worthiness.
We take our first breaths in hospital rooms where everything is meant to be wasted.
The school lunches in most schools are commoditized, lowest-cost-possible foods devoid of the richness of whole food color, nutrition and satisfaction.
We’re told to fall in line, take our meds, buy our mass produced plastic clothes and throw them out at the slightest imperfection.
What happens to a society that is treated like that?
Where there is no pride of workmanship. Tell me who ever says, “Wow! That’s such a beautiful piece of MDF furniture!”
Surrounded by disposable goods, we ourselves begin to feel disposable.
And our culture reinforces that. Have a life problem? Fine, you’re fired. I’ll replace you with someone else, and then replace that person if they’re inconvenient in any way.
Assembly line products, assembly line humans.
It’s not as hopeless as it sounds, however.
Collectively, I hear the whispers and they’re turning to shouts: we are done living as disposable humans surrounded by disposable objects.
And the more we speak this to life, the more we stand up and say, “Hey, no more. I want the dignity of things that last and life that nurtures me,” the more we bring awareness and demand change, the more we improve the lives of those around us.
I don’t have all the answers, but I’m thinking deeply about this.
Beauty, luxury and dignity are basic human rights. We should be able to walk into a store and buy objects that enhance our lives in tangible, lasting ways.
I believe we’re waking up. A people will rise in unison to demand a world where dignity is inherent, where quality-adjacent becomes quality-universal.
MDF gives way to real wood again. Polyester has a role, but not more so than linen, wool, cotton, silk, real.
And we can take steps, each one of us, to demand a better world.
Choosing the fancy hotel once rather than the fake plastic one twice. The cost difference really isn’t as much as it might seem.
I don’t have all the answers. I mostly have questions, actually, but I’m confident it starts by having these conversations.
By exploring how we can call down a world that feeds us at the soul level.
Because I believe humanity would achieve new heights if luxury was normal and accessible to everyone.
